author of gay erotic romance

Willis Moore is a detective with the Richmond City police department who was suspended after a case he was working on went sour. After his first day back on the force, he cruises downtown Cary Street off-duty, looking for a little action. What he finds is a street punk and hustler named Corey who reminds him of a previous lover. Will wants a piece of Corey, and won’t let his badge get in the way of hooking up.

Note: This is part of the first chapter of the novel, Tricked Out. To read the full story behind Will and Corey, pick up the full book today!

But the one Will notices, the one he lowers his shades to get a better look at, stands by himself at the front of the group. He has translucent skin that seems to glow in the lamplight, as if he hasn’t seen the sun in years. His black hair shines almost blue in the night, the short bangs framing his face and ears in a pixie cut. He wears a silver mesh tank top cropped above his navel and a pair of black biker shorts pulled down low over bony hips. Will finds his gaze drawn to the flat planes of that bare stomach, the thin muscles taut and lean, the skin luminous against the shadows.

A car horn blares behind him -- the light changed. Will hits the gas and shoots through the intersection, mind lingering on the scantily clad hustler and his friends. At the next block, without making a conscious decision about it, Will turns and circles back for a second look.

Damn.

You shouldn’t, he tells himself, but his body doesn’t listen. His blood rises at the sight of exposed white flesh, and when he closes his eyes, he can well imagine his own dark fingers splayed over that pale midriff like the shadows themselves.

You didn’t even see his face, a voice inside him mutters.

Will doesn’t care. He’s been driving for hours, ever since he left the precinct, and for what?

For this.

Some part of him needs this, he knows. Why else would he be in the Slip, cruising the street? Music blaring, sunglasses on, an erection throbbing at his crotch? He needs release.

That damn voice in his mind won’t let up. This is Tea all over again. Will turns the radio up in an attempt to drown it out, but it doesn’t work. You find another street rat like that, pick him up, take him home, clean him up, and what happens next? Where’s Tea now?

Dead.

Will grips the steering wheel tight and leans forward as he takes the next turn. He isn’t thinking about Teabag anymore -- that part of his life was over, done with, case closed. It’s been a month already. Tonight is an escape, a way to move out of the past, a way to move on. And Will suspects a good, solid fuck is all he need to do just that.

Back on Cary Street again, Will slows as he approaches the hustlers’ block. This time he pulls over a bit, out of the flow of traffic, so he won’t be rushed. The guys come into view and Will slows the car. A few of them elbow each other, nodding his way. Then the guy in the silver mesh turns and watches him come to a complete stop.

Will sits back in the driver’s seat to wait. It doesn’t take long. Within a few minutes, the guy breaks away from his friends and drifts to the passenger side of Will’s car. As he approaches, Will turns the radio down to a mere whisper.

Leaning onto the open window, the guy flashes Will an easy grin. “Hey, dude,” he drawls. His voice has a raw quality to it, as if he spent the previous evening screaming himself hoarse at a concert. “See something you like?”